Someday
by Simlead
Summary: Just a little one-shot that I came up with to tag on the end of Tempus. Spoilers for the episode. 'James thought the answer resided in getting Helen to stay. Can one night out and the morning after teach him otherwise'


**A/N: This is my first Sanctuary fic so I'm excited about uploading this. :P I ship Helen with a few different people and Tempus made me ship Helen/James. So, this is set at the end of Tempus (before Helen leaves London) and, therefore, has spoilers for it. ****I don't own the playground, I just play with its toys. :) Here goes nothing...**

* * *

Wind battered Helen's rich brown hair as she stepped out onto the street, leaning partly on James' shoulder. The euphoria of that night was masked slightly by alcohol and the giddy feeling that danced on her gut and paraded across her bladder. She could still feel the stares hitting her back, even as the door closed, but propriety mattered little to her. James Watson had finally convinced her to let loose for one last time - after all, Helen 'Bancroft' had no reputation or past to desecrate. Nothing to learn, lose or grieve for. And an eternity to live.

"You could've gone easier on the poor chaps. As if a lady in their presence wasn't enough, your drunken antics frightened them half to death!" James half-heartedly chuckled as she limped and stumbled her way along the pavements.

"I'm not that drunk," Helen slurred. As if to contradict her, her body chose that exact moment to make her sway where she stood. James swept down to break her fall. She would've thought it incredibly chivalrous of him if his exasperated sigh and rolling eyes didn't accompany it. Yet, she allowed him to pull her closer as the chilling London night crawled up her skin.

"I think your body speaks for itself, Helen, dear," he 'tsk'ed at her as they arrived home. Glad to be rid of the unrelenting storm brewing outdoors, Helen allowed herself to be ushered inside. "Come on."

"No, no... I need to collect my things and go," she insisted. James scowled - they'd had an excellent time but the last thing he wanted to remember was why they were there. Why he'd agreed to take Helen Magnus - albeit a future version - to a gentleman's bar. He seized her tipsy form by the shoulders and shook.

"Stop. You're in no state to be doing anything but resting," he pleaded and she opened her lips to retort, but he held up a silencing hand. "I'm concerned for you. If you injure yourself and I'm not there..."

"Alright," she sighed, suddenly sombre. "If it helps, I'll stay for tonight."

"And this isn't a ploy to appease me?" he asked. Her speech was still slurred and her posture was a weary slouch. However, she seemed honest enough.

"You have my word," she laid a hand on his arm. The dim light of the hallways danced around them in a way Helen had almost forgotten, for decades, she'd been accustomed to flicking a switch and having constant, strong lighting at her disposal. The only times she saw a candle involved churches or baths.

"Even in this state, I think I trust you. Goodnight," he patted the hand on his arm and slid it away from him. Shedding his coat, he marched further into the house, leaving Helen stood (still slightly inebriated) by the door. Despite being sobered up by James' concern for her, she wavered and relied heavily on the wall. As she made her way back to the bedroom she'd been hiding out in since her journey through the rift. A few days previously, however, they'd agreed that she'd vacate the room in favour of somewhere a little less memory-provoking and dangerous. Not that she was less likely to be mugged elsewhere in England. But she was more likely to not meet herself on the way back - literally. While it had been James that had suggested the venture, he'd become increasingly reluctant, as time passed, to let her go. Sadly, in her drunken stupor, the subject didn't appeal to her. It was of little consequence. So, when she pushed open the door to her room, the mess didn't bother her in the slightest.

"James, do you even pay your servants?" she grumbled, flinging a shoe halfway across the room in her attempts to remove it and climb into the bed. Night clothes be damned. Or, rather, it seemed that way when her head promptly hit the pillow.

* * *

A light, gentle sensation upon her cheek woke Helen from her slumber. James was perched beside her on the bed, one hand framing one side of her face. Her eyes darted down to her fully-clothed form. All of a sudden, it rushed back to her. The drink. The stares. The whole evening. And that meant...

"Argh! Bloody hell!" she gasped. "Don't think I've had a hangover like that in years."

"Keep it down or the staff will hear," he warned her. "If you ask me, it serves you right with the amount you drunk..."

"Oh dear. I do hope I didn't make too much of a song and dance of it all."

"No," he laughed. "You'll be leaving anyway, I presume?"

"Well, yes, I..." she paused and caught sight of his disgruntled expression. "James? Is something wrong?"

"You're leaving and you just ask if everything's alright?! Don't you think I will miss you?" he snapped and turned, in a flash, to look at her. Helen's heart sped up. Then, James seemed to realise that he'd raised his voice and remorse flooded his features. "My apologies, I didn't think. Did I startle you?"

"No, I'm quite alright," she halted for a moment. "Does it bother you that much? That I'm going away, I mean. And, before you tell me that the preservation of the timeline is more important than the things that haunt you, think carefully. That's _my_ line."

"From what I've been able to deduce, there's a lot of pain in your future. The younger you. And it's pain that I can't help her through. Somehow, assisting you makes me feel like I'm making a small difference," he sighed in his hands.

"James... Whatever pain I suffer wasn't your fault," she drew his hands away from their position and them in hers. "But I have to leave to ensure time is intact."

"I-I understand. Now, if that's all, I have other things to attend to. I trust that you can see yourself out?" his dismissal stung like nettles, to say the least. Though she refrained from the wince that longed to flit across her features.

"Of course. I don't believe the station will be too busy at this time in a morning," she shot him a clinical smile - James took it as his cue to depart. He paced swiftly out of the room, the door clanging shut behind him. There he stood, for a moment, attempting to grasp the thoughts and concepts circling his brain. The woman in the room he had just left was Helen Magnus. She had always been gracious towards him, as far as he knew, and it seemed that very little of that had changed with time. Yet, this Helen Magnus was significantly changed. And despite the impossibility of a relationship with the Helen from _his_ time, he'd developed a lingering attraction for her. But, as many wise men and women would have said, a man would always want what he cannot have. And she seemed adamant that the timeline wasn't disturbed more than it already was.

* * *

Fog clouded the train station as night began a slow procession across London. Helen's attention was focused on her luggage, paying next to no heed of the way she appeared so blatantly out of place with her heavy overdress to conceal the 21st Century clothing beneath. Men dressed in suits, and various other garments that were s clearly from that era, stood around. Some minded their own business but others shot curious looks at her attire and company - or lack thereof. The train huffed up to the platform. Helen stepped forward when she heard fast-approaching footsteps from behind and a hand clutched her arm. She spun round; it was none other than James Watson.

"James, what is it? I need to catch my train," she told the detective.

"I-I... Damn it! Helen-"

"Just say it, please. You know very well I don't care about whatever frivolities you're trying to uphold. Out with it," she gave him a stern look.

"Yes, out with it. I came here to ask you not to go. To stay here in London," his expression was hopeful and it was killing her. She wouldn't forget crushing him in a hurry.

"And then what? Live the life of a mere mistress while I watch history repeat itself? I can't stay and watch that happen. I just can't, James," her stone cold gaze softened with every word she said. Her resolve was crumbling. He placed a cautious hand in hers. "I can't relive everything..."

"Helen, I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I kept it hidden from you," she countered with a shake of the head.

"Then go. Don't let me keep you. For love or memories," he relinquished his grip.

"Love?" her eyes lit up. "I'll go to the countryside. And perhaps you can join me. We'll try, even if it doesn't work out. Someday," she told him, bringing them closer to the edge of the platform. James beamed and enveloped both of her hands in his.

"Someday, darling."

* * *

**A/N: Was it a little cliché? Sappy? Oh well... I wrote this over a fortnight in a notebook, in between classes. What did you think? Let me know in a review, if you like! Oh, and I thought I'd point out that I couldn't decide between Hurt/Comfort and Angst for the second genre. So I just put H/C. :)**


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